


New Slang

by Sar_Kalu



Category: House MD
Genre: Crack Fick Ahoy!, Just a little bit of silliness, Not to be taken seriously, for the Aussie's, quick easy read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: Chase wakes up one day and in a fit of Aussie hilarity, decides to take the piss outta his Boss and co-workers for the shits and giggles.For those in need of translating, there's a handy Dictionary at the end.





	New Slang

Chase isn’t sure what made him do it. Messing with his Boss and colleagues heads like this. Perhaps it is because he heard ‘ _Highway to Hell_ ’ on the radio on the way to work this morning. It could have been because it is June and stinking hot enough to make him long for a pair of stubbies and can of bitter. Hell, it could have been that he’s been up all night watching the footy replays on the net and keeping up with Hawthorn, _his_ team, as they slaughtered Collingwood 109 to 20. Or, more likely, he thinks as he checked over the file in his hands as he wanders into examination room two and is confronted with a blinding grin from his newest patient, it’s because he has a reminder of home sitting on the examination table bleeding all over the floor.

 

“Bruce Mullen?” He checks quickly, flicking his eyes from the maroon file up to the patients grey eyes that twinkled beneath a mop of messy brown hair. The guy isn’t overly tall, around five ten in height; but he is easily twice as broad as Chase in the chest alone, with great big beefy arms and a thick neck that ran into a sickeningly toned chest. What amuses Chase most, though, is that the guy was wearing a pair of navy blue cut off’s and a stripe-y singlet showing off the Southern Cross tattoo he has on his left pectoral muscle. 

 

Bruce Mullen grins and nods, “g’day, Doc!” His accent is so thick that for a moment Chase actually has to run over the words he’d said. 

 

“Good morning,” Chase says slowly, a smile breaking out over his face. “How are you today?”

 

“Aw, I’m pretty good, yeah,” Bruce says. “Well, save for the bloody cut in my leg.” He tilts his left knee to the side, showing a long thick gash that runs from knee to ankle and the reason behind the massive puddle of blood beneath the examination table.

 

“You didn’t think to mention this to the nurses outside?” Chase wonders, pillaging the cupboards for a needle and thread. 

 

“Naw, they look pretty busy out there, mate,” Bruce shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “Besides, she don’t hurt.”

 

“You take anything for it?” Chase asks, grabbing a local anaesthetic and a swab. 

 

“Yeah, some panadol,” the patient says, watching Chase curiously. “You reckon it’s gonna scar, Doc?”

 

“Yeah, I think it will,” Chase smirks, amused. “How did it happen?”

 

“Well, I was out swimming and this great big shark comes outta no where, mate,” Bruce explains as Chase injects him with the local anaesthetic. He shoots the disbelieving doctor a bright grin and swiftly continues. “Must have been six foot, man. You should have seen it.”

 

“This isn’t a shark bite,” Chase smirks, his hazel eyes flicking between the gash he was cleaning out with cotton swabs and disinfectant and the man on the examination table. 

 

“Well duh!” Bruce rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “That’s because I out swam the sucker and beat it to the beach.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Chase agrees dubiously, his barely noticeable accent thickening slightly in his disbelief. “Pull the other one, mate, it has bells on.”

 

Bruce laughs heartily, holding up his arms in surrender. “Sorry mate, you got me.”

 

“So how did this really happen?” Chase asks in amusement as he threads a needle, the metal glinting wickedly in the light. 

 

“Ah, well now,” Bruce admits sheepishly. “That there is a question not easily answered.”

 

“You don’t remember?” Chase asks incredulously, stunned enough that he pauses in stitching the guy up and stares into grey eyes with his own wide hazel ones. 

 

“I was pretty rotten, mate,” Bruce says, running a large hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t have recognised me own Mum.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Chase says, shaking his head. “Did you have a slab to yourself or something?”

 

Bruce, however, just grins brightly and crows in delight. “I knew you was an Aussie! Bloody hell man, you sound like a bloody Yank!” Chase feels mildly offended by that, scowling up at his patient who holds up his hands placatingly. “You do mate, how long have you been here?”

 

“Long enough,” Chase admits grumpily, backsliding with his vocabulary as he becomes more comfortable around the other Australian. He goes back to his sewing, careful of the ragged flaps of skin on the mans leg, trying to do the neatest job possible. “Reckon its about four years now, three at this hospital.”

 

“Aw man, that’s pretty neat,” Bruce grins a bit jealously. “I’m only here for the next two months, backpacking with friends down to Miami, gonna get us some Sheila’s before heading back to Tassie.”

 

“You’re a Tassie boy?” Chase smirks cheekily. 

 

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees warily.

 

Chase rolls his shoulders slightly and smirks a bit wider, “didn’t have you pegged as a Taswegian; you’ve not got two heads.”

 

“Har, har,” Bruce rolls his eyes, mildly amused. “Real funny, mate. Where the hell are you from?”

 

“Melbourne,” Chase answers with another smirk. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

 

“Yeah, that so?” Bruce challenges.

 

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Chase agrees.

 

“The fact that you come from the bloody cabbage patch means I’ve got nothin’ on you?” Bruce grins, his accent thickening. “You’re a right dickhead, mate, I’ve got all kinds of shit on you. You ruddy Westies, thinkin’ you’re all high and mighty, ruddy hell.” Bruce rolls his eyes, smirking good naturally at the blonde doctor who was tying off the last of his stitches neatly.

 

“I’m not from West Melbourne!” Chase protests, leaning back and reaching for the scissors on the cart next to him. 

 

“You sound pretty posh mate,” Bruce observes.

 

Chase rolls his eyes, “my Dad sent me to a bloody boarding school, we were taught to talk proper like.”

 

“Must’ve been nice,” Bruce reflects, smirking slightly. “You get one of them pretty coats too?”

 

“Yeah, it was fucking hot in summer,” Chase grumbles, his hands on his knees as he settles back in his chair. “Lovely bright bottle green that looked shit on everyone.”

 

“Awesome,” Bruce snorts. 

 

Chase pulls out his script pad and scratches out a quick prescription for a course of antibiotics. “Take one twice a day for the next two weeks, should help fight off any infection you’ve caught,” Chase says as he hands the slip over and reaches for a needle and vial. “I also want to do some blood work, check you’ve not contracted anything like hep C or tetanus.”

 

“Which’d suck balls,” Bruce agrees, holding out his arm and letting Chase attach a blood pressure cuff to his arm and pump it full of air.

 

“Too right,” Chase mutters, sliding the needle home into Bruce’s thick veins in his elbows. “So what are you doing here anyway?” He asks, removing the needle and swiftly sticking a band-aid to the other mans arm.

 

“I’m on shore leave,” Bruce answers, flexing his arm carefully. 

 

“You’re a soldier?” Chase asks, feeling a measure of pride at the knowledge.

 

Bruce nods cheerfully, “sure am. RAAF pilot here to teach the Yank to fly straight.”

 

“Bet that’s pretty hard,” Chase snarks in amusement.

 

“You have no idea, mate,” Bruce agrees with a put upon expression. “Not one of them have any appreciation for me and my mates, they all reckon that they’re better than us, just coz they wear the stars and stripes.” 

 

“I hear ya,” Chase agrees, nodding thoughtfully as a eyes the blood in the vial, wondering if it looked a bit too runny. “Right-o, you’re good to go.” Chase holds up a hand briefly, handing Bruce his script which he’d forgotten and dashing off another, this time for painkillers before following the man from the examination room. “You’re gonna have to hang around until we get the blood work done, but after that, you should be good as gold.”

 

“Cheers, Doc,” Bruce says gratefully, taking a seat near the door and watching as the blonde doctor smiles, nods and then makes his way over to the nurses station for his next patient. 

 

It’s like this for the next three hours, Doctor Chase swanning around with that haughty accent, mimicking the American’s around him so he didn’t get teased or questioned too badly while occasionally grinning at the only other Australian in the room, all cheeky like. Bruce enjoys it, it’s like they have a secret between them as they silently mock the Yanks around them. There’s nothing so difficult as being surrounded by people who know you don’t belong and have a tendency to ask if you ride a fucking Kangaroo to work. The answers no, by the way. Aussies _have_ managed to harness that all illusive power called the ‘automobile’. 

 

By early afternoon, Bruce is kicking back and reading a fishing magazine when Doctor Chase calls him back in with that wide, blinding grin that all Australian’s are known for. Even the more stoic and darker natured Australian’s have the ability to pull back their lips wide enough to show off all thirty-two of their teeth in a ridiculously wide smile. Bruce returns it, ignoring the cranky doctor with the bum leg that watches them suspiciously, while the hot brunette beside him glares at the gimpy doctor in frustration. Bruce has a suspicion that they’re fucking, perhaps he should ask Doctor Chase, the blonde looks like the gossiping type. 

 

“Hey-a Brucie,” Chase grins, gesturing for his patient to take a seat. “Rushed this through the labs seeing as America has a policy regarding their military service people.”

 

“Deadly,” Bruce grins in reply, “so, Doc, am I gonna shuffle off this mortal coil?”

 

“Don’t reckon so,” Chase mutters, scanning the file and ignoring the way the for behind him opens and the gimpy doctor plus the busty brunette slide in, their eyes alight with curiousness. “I reckon you’re all good, mate.”

 

“Wicked cool,” Bruce huffs, relieved. “So, I just take the painkillers and antibiotics and I’m gonna be gold?”

 

“Gold?” The woman mutters, stunned by the thick accents both men are speaking in. 

 

The male doctors smirking at Chase, it’s not a nice expression and Chase is clearly uncomfortable under his gaze. “Wombats all grown up and speaking like a real Aussie,” he grins nastily.

 

Bruce stiffens and scowls at the doctor before turning to Chase with a raised eyebrow, “does dick-face over there even know what ‘wombat’ means?”

 

“No idea, mate,” Chase sighs, shrugging. 

 

The woman frowns, “what does it mean? Is it rude?”

 

“Too bloody right it’s rude,” Bruce growls, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. “A wombat’s someone who eats, roots and leave; and somehow I reckon that’s not Doctor Chase, so gimpy over there shouldn’t be calling him one.”

 

The male doctor mock pouted, “I’m a cripple, you can’t call me that.”

 

“Mate, you could be the Queen herself and I wouldn’t treat you with any more respect,” Bruce snaps. “Not when you have no more respect for yourself than I do.”

 

“Bruce, enough,” Chase calmly interjects, his voice smooth. “You’re never gonna change his mind, so don’t bother. Doctor House has a reputation for diagnosing people who don’t need it, and according to him I’m a bit of a rort.”

 

“That’s a bit harsh mate,” Bruce mumbles, standing up gingerly, his leg throbbing painfully from overuse. “I reckon you’re an alright sort, a right Ocker.”

 

Chase grins, “cheers, mate.”

 

“Can you please speak English?” House demands, frustrated.

 

“We are mate,” Bruce smirks, clearly having taken a dislike to the disabled doctor. He turned to Chase who was smirking slyly, amused as hell. “He’s a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

 

“Reckon so,” Chase mutters noncommittally. “He’s a bit of a piking bludger.”

 

“And you’re the hard done battler?” Bruce grins, shrugging. “C’mon mate, pull the other one, folks know that doctors get paid bullion.” 

 

“Mate, I haven’t got a brass razoo,” Chase grumbles, shoving his pen into his pocket and closing the file. House and the woman are still watching them, clearly bemused by the conversation that they suspect the meaning of but aren’t entirely sure their ‘decoding’ is correct.

 

“Ruddy hell mate,” Bruce shakes his head. “What’re you doing here if you’re not getting zack?”

 

Chase rolls his eyes, “I’m getting zack, as you say.” He grins brightly then, Bruce matching him grin for grin. “But I reckon that since I’m outta Oz, I can be a Tall Poppy on my onesie, don’t’ch’ya know?”

 

Bruce laughs, “yeah, right-o mate.” He shakes his head and makes tracks to the exit. “Cheers for the help, Doc. Gotta be hitting the Frog and Toad, though. Got training real soon.”

 

“Yeah, you take it easy, yeah?” Chase directs firmly, tidying up the room unnecessarily, guessing that House and Cuddy would be wanting to speak to him. 

 

“What was that?” Cuddy demands the moment Bruce is out of the room.

 

Chase shrugs, unconcerned. “Playing catch up with a fellow Aussie,” he replies. “Just coz I chose to work here don’t mean I don’t miss home.” He grins at the thought, “I reckon I’ve had my fill of Down Under though. I might have the red dust running through my veins, but I’m pretty damn stoked to be be here.”

 

With that, Chase saunters from the room leaving Cuddy to stare after him in surprise, while House just grins and rolls his cane between his hands, mulling over his Aussie’s ability to completely silence a room with a few well placed idioms. Still, if this continued, he’d have to by himself a dictionary if only so he could keep up with the blonde. Oh, and to see Cameron and Foreman’s faces when he and Chase traded the ‘lingo’. 

 

Which would be funny as fuck!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Australian Slang Dictionary
> 
> Aussie: (pron: OZ-zie) Australians.  
> Battler: a hard worker only just making a living  
> Bludger: a layabout who wants something for nothing. (e.g House)  
> Bullion: gold, lots and lots of money  
> Dickhead: affectionate appellation among friends, otherwise wholly impolite among strangers  
> Down Under: Australia  
> Folks: people, parents, depending on context  
> Frog and Toad: the road, highway, motorway, freeway  
> Funny as Fuck: hilarious, roll around on the ground laughing  
> G’Day: short for ‘Good Day’, a greeting among Australian’s stuck in the 1950’s Menzies Era.  
> Gold, good as: perfect, fine, awesome  
> Lingo: language, reference to Australian idioms in particular  
> Mate: everyone who is or isn’t not your friend  
> Ocker: a real Australian male  
> Oz: Australia  
> Piker: someone who avoids commitments with no excuse/ or a poor excuse  
> Playing Catch Up: catching up with a friend or someone you know (self-explanatory)  
> Posh: someone who’s educated and well monied.  
> RAAF: Royal Australian Air Force  
> Red Dust: reference to Australia’s interior which is red as rust, and how patriotic a person is  
> Rort: cheating, defrauding  
> Root: to have sex (not entirely polite)  
> Rotten: drunk  
> Slab: a carton of 24 beer cans, each one about 375mL.  
> Tall Poppy: successful person  
> Tall Poppy Syndrome: someone who badmouths successful people ( e.g Foreman)  
> Tassie: nickname for Tasmania  
> Tasweigian: nickname for Tasmanians, who are often referred to as having two heads on account of the island being so small that everyone is everyone else cousin, ergo, inbred with two heads.  
> Westie: nickname for people who live in West Melbourne  
> Wombat: someone who eats, roots, and leaves.  
> Yank: a fond but exasperated name for all Americans.  
> Zack: six-pence


End file.
